Entropy
by SusieSamurai
Summary: If Boh had known that a chance encounter in a coffee shop would result in her death, she would have been on the first flight back to New York. Now she has to deal with a guy who is painfully Type A, quickly get over an aversion to gratuitous violence, juggle judgemental stereotypes, and manage a sudden insatiable thirst for blood. Just a regular night for LA's newest Kindred.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own VTMB nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.**

* * *

There was something Boh Chan loved about Los Angeles at night.

Everyone liked to call New York the 'City That Never Sleeps' yet here she sat in a hole in the wall coffee-shop in downtown LA at ten-thirty and she was anything but alone. A group of college students crammed for an upcoming exam downing triple-shot Americanos like they were water. Token hipsters uploading photos of their misspelled names to instagram, no doubt with some witty caption they stole from Tumblr. The baristas behind the counter seemed to be ensnared in some sort of Romeo and Juliet star-crossed pining minus the murder and suicide - hopefully.

Honestly, who needed television when people-watching was ripe with dramatic opportunity all on its own. After three hours of observing the two, Boh felt she was just as invested in that relationship as they were. Hell, she was tempted to name her first borns after them.

Shifting in the leather booth Boh held back a wince at the stiff ache in her left leg and hip. Something that always happened when she sat still for too long. Or moved too exuberantly. Or it was about to rain. Or it was raining. For how aggressively she tried to pretend her injuries and scars didn't exist, they worked just as hard to remind her that they did.

Pushing back the wispy dark pieces of hair that had escaped her ponytail Boh picked up the small espresso cup, pressing her lips to the dark stain of her lipstick. Eyes fixed on the leather-bound journal open in front of her she continued to scribble down set-list ideas with her free hand, humming a tune against the warm glass. The coffee was warm and rich on her tongue, the dark liquid the same shade of brown as her eyes.

So engrossed in her song choosing as she was, Boh near jumped out of her seat when she noticed that someone had sat across from her.

Despite knowing it probably took at least twenty minutes for him to get it to sit like that, Boh still had the urge to run her hands through his disheveled brown hair. A dusting of stubble drawing attention to high cheekbones and an angular jaw, not to mention his entire outfit probably cost as much as her last rent check.

Long story short, he was almost ridiculously attractive.

"Can I take your photograph?"

Good lord, even his _voice_ was attractive, causing a slight shiver to run down Boh's spine.

"Why?" She queried with raised brows.

"Because you're beautiful."

Beautiful? A choking sound escaped Boh's throat at the thought. Beautiful things weren't covered in scars. Granted, all her scars were covered by clothing and out of his sight but still. The scar tissue marring her left side from mid-calf to waist were ugly things. Remnants of a girl that may have once believed him.

"Hardly," Boh was defensive and the smile that twisted her lips was dark, "but thanks for saying so."

It wasn't his fault. He didn't know. The words were no doubt intended to be flattering - perhaps the first step towards getting into her very tight black satin pants. Still, Boh couldn't help but resent this perfect specimen of the male gender for dredging up thoughts she tended to pointedly ignore. There was a reason she hadn't been laid in over a year - no one wanted to feel up what could essentially be Freddy Krueger's leg.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to upset you."

Realising she was being kind of a bitch at the sincerity in his words, Boh forced her lips into a softer smile and tilted her chin playfully, "You gonna take my photo or not?"

Charming grin back in place, he motioned for her to turn her head. Raising an expensive Nikon camera he snapped a photo of Boh gazing out of the window, the quirking of her lips not enough to hide the grief in her eyes.

"So, is there a name to go with that face?" There was a teasing lilt to his words as he leaned forward.

White teeth flashing Boh responded, "I bet you use that line on _all_ the girls."

"Only on Mondays."

"It's Wednesday," Boh corrected with a slight smirk, enjoying the slight back and forth they were establishing.

"Ah," he winked, "on Wednesday's I only use it on hard to impress brunettes with charming personalities."

Despite herself, a soft chuckle left her lips.

"I'm Boh. You got a name there, Slick?"

At the nickname he threw his head back and laughed, Boh's eyes following the curve of his throat. Sobering, he looked her in the eye while extending a hand across the table, "Theo Reynolds. Although, I may just let you continue calling me _Slick_ ," he smirked, "best one I've heard in awhile."

Rolling her eyes she couldn't help but continue to laugh at his audacity. Theo Reynolds certainly wasn't lacking in confidence, that was for sure. And she had to admit that she kind of liked it. There was an earnestness that implied that he _believed_ the lines he was spilling. And she found it kind of sweet.

This chance encounter was just the first of many. Over the next few weeks, both of them met up at the coffee shop and neither left until well after midnight. Getting to know each other over coffee and biscotti, Boh allowing a single photo during each encounter. The smile on her face becoming less wistful each time, the sorrow in her eyes slowly replaced with mirth.

Many a song was written with Theo Reynolds as inspiration.

At the beginning, both left with a playful wiggle of Boh's fingers and a mock-salute from Theo. It quickly progressed to lingering stares until one night Theo tugged her around the corner and into the mouth of an alley. Partially hidden from the glow of the street-lamps he had backed her up against the cool bricks of the building. Pushing a lock of hair back from her face he had peered intently into her eyes before ducking his head and pressing their lips firmly together.

Breaking the kiss he leaned their foreheads together while she caught her breath, dazedly commenting on how her lipstick had smudged wine-dark against his pale skin. Chuckling his hand had curved possessively around the back of her neck and he murmured, "I frankly don't give a damn," before capturing her lips once more.

Just like that, a new farewell was established. Kisses stolen in the shadows and exploring hands growing in boldness. And then one night, Theo suggested they didn't part ways when they exited the coffee shop.

And Boh agreed.

Faster than she had anticipated he had her pushed up against his apartment door. There was no time to dwell on it, however, as his lips were on her neck and his hand had slipped beneath the silk of her blouse to curve around her waist. Boh fisted her hands in Theo's hair, fingers unconsciously clenching as his mouth moved lower and his tongue traced the swell of her breast. The wet sucking sounds of his mouth on her skin caused a flush to rise from her chest to her face, coloring her pale skin a blotchy pink.

Her soft moan covered the click of the lock and she stumbled as the door swung wide, Theo's arm tightening around her waist the only thing stopping her from tumbling backward. He backed her into the dark room, kicking the door shut behind them. Boh gasped as his hands traveled over her ass, fingers digging into the leather covering her thighs to drag her up against his body. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Boh attempted to support herself as securely as her left leg allowed - already having to push from her mind the dull pain throbbing in her joints.

And then he licked a trail from breast to ear before sucking down hard on her pulse-point and Boh's mind went deliciously blank. At that moment he could have announced himself as a Republican and she wouldn't have cared. As long as he didn't stop. Teeth grazed her skin before Theo drew her into a wet kiss that was all teeth and tongue.

Not even aware that they had been moving a squeak of surprise burst from her as he dropped Boh onto a plush bed. She bounced once, twice, before the weight of him pushed her firmly down. Nestled between her thighs, their size difference was never so noticeable as it was now with Theo draped over her. Hips thrust upwards, desperate for any form of friction, and she rewarded him with a breathy moan as he ground down in response.

All too soon nothing but skin and a fine layer of perspiration separated them both. Boh's breath came in short gasps as Theo's mouth traveled the length of her inner thigh, his stubble scratching her overly sensitive skin, before stopping just before where she wanted him most.

"I want to show you something."

A shiver traveled the length of her body at the desperation in his voice, lips moving against her skin. Taking a few breaths she shakily replied, "Yes."

Sharp pain had her drawing in a sharp breath as his teeth pierced her flesh before letting it out in a long throaty moan. Overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy that crashed over her like a wave, fingers clenching in Theo's hair and the soft bed sheets as she attempted to ground herself. If she didn't there was a high chance she would be swept away.

Losing herself to the glorious throbbing pleasure, Boh didn't get a chance to notice the slowing of her pulse. The heaviness dragging at her limbs as her once burning skin cooled rapidly and she passed the point of no return.

With the last beat of her heart, a cool tongue entered her mouth forcing a thick sickly sweet liquid down her throat. Several more times she suffered through this until finally whoever it was granted a reprieve. They curled up behind her, one arm around her waist while a hand cupped her bare breast sticky with blood, and she succumbed to blessed nothingness.

Boh Chan was dead.

* * *

Hi Guys!

Yes, I'm back and this time with a rewrite! As always a rewrite is a daunting task so to those of you who have followed me from "Begin Again" thank you so very much for your support. As I'm sure you would have noticed our reluctant Toreador heroine is no longer Billie the blue-eyed blonde-haired ex-ballerina. Instead, we now have Boh Chan, a Chinese-American stripper-turned-lounge singer. I hope you all love her just as much and can find aesthetic sets and moodboards for her on my tumblr with the tags 'oc: boh chan' and 'fic: entropy'. I hope you stick around for the ride.

Much love,

\- susiesamurai xo


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own VTMB, nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.**

* * *

Boh was not having a good 'morning after'.

Instead of laying in bed basking in the afterglow of a good night's fucking she was… well, she was kneeling on a stage stark naked. That being said, there was a high chance that this was just a dream and she hadn't actually woken up yet.

In her nightmares, eighty percent of the time she was naked.

The stage provided even more evidence towards this theory of vivid dreaming. Ever since she had started working at the club on weekends a reoccurring nightmare had consisted of her performing a song onstage and somehow getting every single word wrong. Something that the crowd had no issues with pointing out to her. Loudly and cruelly.

Stretching her neck to try and get rid of the tightness in her shoulders Boh came to the sudden realization that she couldn't move. Mostly because someone had a firm grip on the back of her neck, sharp nails curving around to dig into the soft flesh of her throat. Twisting to try and catch a glimpse of whoever was holding her - because no matter how into Theo she was she drew the line at _Fifty Shades Of Grey_ role-play - Boh groaned in pain as whoever it was pushed her head back down so hard her chin hit her chest.

Oh thank god she had so much hair because right now it was the only thing stopping her breasts from being exposed for all to see. And there were people to see it. A dozen or so pale faces leering dispassionately at her from the shadows.

Boh wasn't in the midst of a nightmare, she was awake. A much more frightening realization that came along with several more.

Recognising where she was her face scrunched in confusion as she wondered why she was center stage in the rundown Nocturne Theatre. The peeling wooden slats of the stage left smudges of dust and flecks of varnish sticking to the pale skin of her knees. Strangely enough, the sea of red velvet seats in varying stages of disrepair was occupied. With the only illumination in the large room coming from the stage-lights it was difficult to discern one pale face from the next but Boh was still acutely aware of their eyes on her.

Shuffling her knees closer together Boh tried to move her hands so they could at least rest in her lap and conceal what her hair wasn't long enough to achieve. However, this idea was quickly thwarted by the thick rope binding her wrists together. Why it had taken her so long to realize that she was tied up, Boh had no clue. But if she was going to blame anything it would be how incredibly thirsty she was, her brain foggy as it concentrated solely on the dryness of her mouth and the burning ache in her throat.

A softly accented voice managed to distract Boh from her fixation with her extreme case of dry-mouth.

"Forgive me. Let the penalty commence."

Tilting her head, hissing as those fingernails dug further into her skin, Boh spotted Theo mirroring her to the right. Lips pulled back into a snarl that revealed glistening fangs that curved to delicate translucent points. Arms slick with blood up to his elbows, the obvious cause being the ropes around his wrists as his muscles tensed with the effort to break free. Blood slid off the tips of his fingertips to splatter against the stage.

Nose twitching as the heavy coppery tang reached her, Boh's belly felt as though it was currently on _fire_. Something resembling a hunger pang dialed up to one hundred caused a full body shudder to run through her. Whoever was restraining her needing to readjust their grip as her body bowed forward in an unconscious effort to press her face against her knees.

Okay. No need to panic. Things like this happened all the time, right? People went home with a guy and only to wake up in a horror movie on, like, a daily basis in LA. This was completely fine!

And then she caught a glimpse of the giant of a man wearing a leather duster that must've taken at least eight cows to make wielding a sword roughly the same size as herself as though it were an umbrella.

 _...Hooooooolyshitwhatthefuckisgoingonsweetmothermaryjosephandtinybabyjesusthatgiantgorillamanwasgoingto -_

Warm blood splattered against her cheek, dripping down her jaw like macabre tears, as Theo's head bounced once against the stage before both it and his body crumbled to ash.

What. The. _Fuck._

Head snapping up as a pair of shiny black wingtips stopped in front of her Boh saw what had to be the most pompous man in all of Los Angeles. Pale, perfectly manicured, with a Neil Patrick Harris baby-face and the tailored dark suit to match. Eyes like chips of ice gazed down at her indifferently while his handsome features were carefully arranged into an expression of pity and regret.

Boh hated him instantly.

"...which leaves the matter of the ill-begotten progeny," a hand was absently waved in Boh's direction, "without a Sire, most Childer are doomed to wander the earth never knowing their place, their responsibility, and most importantly, the rules they must obey."

A pause.

"Therefore, I have decided that -"

Gazes met once more and Boh had no doubt in her mind that she was about to be introduced to that gigantic sword fairly soon. Panting she tried to formulate some sort of plan in her head. There had to be a way out of this, an argument for her life that would work. Oh God, just what kind of fucked up trouble had she stumbled into? Public execution? People crumbling into ash? It was like some sort of B-Grade horror film with A-Grade special-effects.

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!"

Eyes focusing on the speaker Boh came to the conclusion that Jesus looked much like a Hispanic Chris Evans.

Being held back on both sides her apparent savior snarled at the blond man who seemed to be running the show. Large hands were clenched into tight fists and the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged with tension, as though at any moment he would shake off the people restraining him and rush the stage. Boh kind of hoped he would, pretty boy blond could probably benefit from a punch in the face in her opinion.

Taking a moment, breathing in through his nose before exhaling in a long-suffering kind of way the man said flatly, "If Mister Rodriguez would let me finish," with a pointed stare in brunette Captain America's direction he continued, "I have decided to let this Kindred live."

With those words, Boh promptly passed out.

* * *

There was something wrong with what was happening right now.

Boh wasn't dead. Now, while that might sound strange after what she'd just gone through you couldn't blame her for expecting the worse. Despite the last words she heard the pretty boy blond say. It was pretty touch and go for a while there.

However, she was still fucking naked.

Sitting up the heavy tang of iron lingered in her mouth and she smacked her tongue around to try and get rid of it. Despite her hunger pangs being gone she still felt as though she desperately needed to drink something, a persistent tickle in the back of her throat.

Turned out she had been dumped on the threadbare carpet of one of the theatres disused dressing rooms. The faded red fibers scratching against her skin and making her concerned she might have carpet burn on her ass. Spotting her clothes thrown in a heap in the corner Boh started thinking that maybe her luck was turning around.

Snatching them up she wiggled her ass into the tight leather trousers and buttoned up the loose cream silk blouse. Catching sight of herself in the mirror she stumbled over in her spiked heels with narrowed eyes. Scrubbing a finger across the glass surface she couldn't figure out why her reflection seemed blurred around the edges like smudged charcoal. While the rest of the room was reflected in perfect clarity. Even moving to a different part of the mirror didn't help. It was bizarre and frustrating and Boh was five seconds away from smashing the damn thing.

Seven years bad luck be damned. Maybe it would cancel whatever luck had landed her in this situation in the first place. Two wrongs make a right, right?

"Prince LaCroix requests your presence now that you are decent."

Near on jumping a foot in the air, Boh spun around to find a burly man wearing a back suit and sunglasses - inside at _night_ \- standing in the doorway.

Moving pointedly to the side in a blatant gesture intended to hurry her up, Boh crossed the room, nervously fluffing up her masses of black hair. Inching past him, careful not to touch him, she emerged in the hallway with a barely audible sound of relief. One that choked off as she saw LaCroix a few feet away tapping furiously on his phone screen, face screwed up in a scowl as though it had personally offended him. Who knew, maybe it had? Perhaps it insulted his hair? He seemed the type to be touchy about things like that.

LaCroix looked up at her arrival, phone placed into his jacket pocket as he regarded her impassively. Boh felt much like an animal in a zoo. One he wasn't particularly interested in but he'd paid good money to enter the zoo and, as such, she would receive as much attention as the other animals even if it was with less enthusiasm.

"Your Sire - tragic - my apologies," his tone was as brisk as his walk as he started off down the hall, not bothering to check if she was following, "you must understand, Miss…?"

"Chan," she supplied after an awkward pause, "Boh Chan."

"...Chan," he finished with a nod. "Well, Miss Chan, please understand that there is a strict code of conduct that we must…" he paused for a moment, whether this was for dramatic effect or if he was just searching for the right word, Boh was unsure, "...must _adhere_ to, if we wish to survive."

Frowning, Boh couldn't help but speculate if Theo had been a part of some sort of cult. It would certainly make sense. More sense than the other theory clamoring for attention in the back of her mind. The same one rudely pointing out that the comforting thrum of her pulse was gone.

"When someone, _anyone_ , breaks these laws they undermine the well-worn fabric of our centuries-old society. Understand my _predicament_ , Miss Chan. Allowing you to live makes me directly responsible for your subsequent behavior."

Just as she opened her mouth to ask exactly what he meant by 'responsible for her behavior' and why they couldn't just shake hands and part as unlikely friends, he abruptly spun to face her. The double-doors of the fire-exit at his back, beckoning her like a beacon of possible escape.

"This is your trial. You will be escorted to Santa Monica where you will meet up with an agent by the name of Mercurio who will disclose the details of your labor. Prove to me that this was not a wasted gesture, Fledgling," he informed her, voice ringing with the authority of one used to giving orders and having them followed, "don't come back until you do."

With those parting words, he strode back the way they had come, leaving Boh more confused than she'd ever been in her life in a body that didn't even feel one hundred percent hers anymore. Had she just been sold into some sort of indentured service? Was she that guys _slave_ now or something? Trial? Fledgling? The hell kind of cult was this.

Boh was still firmly in denial of the other option she refused to consider.

Pushing through one of the double doors she was greeted by a cloud of smoke and husky laughter.

"What a scene, man!"

Leaning up against the brick wall was a man that could only be described as Captain Jack Sparrow after joining a motorcycle gang. His long hair and beard were wiry and tangled, shot through with the barest amount of silver threads. His swarthy skin held a slight ashy tone, as though the color was slowly fading from it, and was pulled tight across the corded muscles of his arms and torso. Boh knew this because the open leather vest he wore gave her a more than ample view whether she wanted it or not. Slate grey eyes regarded her with mirth mixed with pity.

Standing there awkwardly, unsure of whether he was the one taking her to Santa Monica - doubtful seeing as he wasn't dressed like he was in the secret service - or if he wanted to talk to her, or whether he was just plain crazy, Boh waited for him to stop cackling.

Sobering, he shook his head almost condescendingly as he flicked his cigar across the alley.

"Then they just plop you out here like a naked baby in the woods. How bout that? Figuratively, of course, since it looks like they managed to get you some clothes." Detecting a hint of disappointment in his words Boh was quick to fold her arms self-consciously over her breasts. "Classic! Say, look Princess, this is probably a lot for you to take in so how's about you and I have a little chat?"

"Excuse me?" Boh asked, not entirely sure what he was talking about.

"Oh Princess, you have no fuckin' clue what I'm talking about - do you?"

Shaking her head in the negative, something that set off another bout of laughter that ended up with him clutching at his stomach, Boh was started to regret talking to him. Perhaps he wouldn't notice if she just booked it down the alley? Surely she could find her own way to Santa Monica. Or the next flight back to New York since LA was apparently a nut job factory.

"Damn, how long did you know Theo for? Did he tell you nothin'?"

While he was catching his breath Boh decided it was too late to run away now and instead asked, "Who are you?"

"Name's Jack," he told her with a roguish wink that might have lifted skirts back in 1738 but just made Boh want to take a shower, "and what's more important is I'm offering you help. Listen up, Princess, cos I'm gonna lay out the basics before you get hauled off to wherever the Hell LaCroix's dumpin' you."

"Basic's for _what_?"

"Survival. You thought being a human was hard, now you're one of the damned and the fallen. And bein' Kindred there's a lot worse you need to worry about than whether you're gonna make this months rent."

" _Kindred_?"

What.

The.

Fuck.

"That's kinda, uh, our word for _vampire_ ," he explained while Boh gaped in disbelief as her carefully maintained air of denial crashed down around her, "never was a big fan of the V-word, especially not anymore thanks to the shit Hollywood's churnin' out now. I mean, do I look like I fuckin' sparkle?"

A bark of nervous laughter escaped her lips as she pictured the man in front of her doused in body-glitter and Jack grinned in response. "See, Princess, I knew you were alright. How's about we take a walk and I fill you in on what I can before you disappear?"

Boh somehow allowed him to sling an arm around her shoulders and lead her down the alley. She blamed it on being distracted by the rising hysteria in the back of her throat caused by the word 'vampire' being dropped so casually. There was still a very high chance that if she opened her mouth she would start screaming and never stop. So instead she kept her lips pressed together and attempted to make sense of what Jack was telling her.

An exceptionally detailed explanation of what exactly she ate now and how she got it. Painting a highly unflattering portrait of Prince LaCroix, what the Hell he was a _prince_ of, and the bare bones of the 'Masquerade'. Essentially keep your fangs off of Instagram and we're good. A warning to beware of shiny lights because 'as a Toreador you can't be too careful seeing as you delicate flowers love sparkly things' that she was fairly certain was just Jack fucking with her.

Apparently, her vampire clan was considered the _Basic Bitch of the Night_.

And then Jack decided to scare her witless by taking a more serious turn and giving a cautionary tale about the Beast that would give her fifteen-year-old self nightmares. An animalistic version of yourself who's only driving force was the need to feed. Indiscriminate in how or who or what they killed as long as it filled their belly. Being hunted and put down like a rabid animal if it ever came to that.

If Jack was good at one thing it was giving people the heebie-jeebies. That was for sure.

All too soon it felt as though she was sliding into the back seat of the cab taking her to Santa Monica, Jack closing the door behind her in a surprisingly gentlemanly display. Popping his head in afterward he leaned on the windowsill with a strange look on his face that quickly melted back into the sardonic grin she had grown accustomed to. As though the world was one big joke and he was the only one smart enough to have figured it out the punchline already.

"If you make it back, stop in at The Last Round - it's this bar downtown here - I'll fill you in on the politics. Now that's the stuff that'll kill ya!"

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hey guys! Figured I'd give you the first chapter fairly quickly since that prologue was SUPER short. A big big big THANK YOU to** ferallahey **for being my first review and such a strong supporter of Boh, her vampire wife haha also for** chocolateteapot **following me from the original onto this rewrite =)**

 **Read and review,**

 **-** susiesamurai **xo**


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own VTMB, nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.**

* * *

Halfway to Santa Monica it began to rain. As soon as she exited the vehicle the cabbie was gone in a squeal of rubber, splashing oily water up her legs that she gazed down at in disbelief.

If this was an indication for how her nights were sure to progress from here on out, she wanted a refund.

Taking shelter in the front stoop of the pawn shop she'd been deposited out front of Boh pushed her sopping wet hair out of her face. Wiggling her fingers into the waistband of her pants she fished out an apartment key. Dangling from a finger the light above reflected off the numbers '508' stamped on the plastic keyring. Spinning it around her finger Boh snatched it up in a closed fist before venturing back out into the downpour.

Logically she was aware that the rain shouldn't bother her as much as it once did. After all, for all intents and purposes her body was now clinically dead - something as trivial as cold water shouldn't rank as high as a lack of pulse in the grand scheme of things. However, Boh had always been the type of person who fixated on the small, annoying, things in life.

A trait that had followed her into Unlife, apparently.

And right then she was irritated by the fact that her hair hung about her face in clumps and stuck to her cheeks. That the beads of water sliding down the back of her neck tickled her skin as they descended between her shoulder-blades. Not to mention the way her pants pulled uncomfortably tight across her thighs or the way her blouse clung to her skin. It sucked and she hated it.

Taking an unnecessary breath Boh darted out of the relative safety of the front stoop and back onto the cracked sidewalk. Careful of her steps she veered around the dumpster and started down the short alley on the side of the building - the filth smearing across the leather of her ankle-boots enough of a deterrent to ensure the four-inch stiletto heels didn't land her face first in the dirt. Well, seventy-percent dirt. Boh didn't exactly want to dwell on what the remaining thirty-percent was.

Fumbling with the door at the end of the alley Boh finally succeeded in swinging it open and stepping inside, a puddle forming on the worn floorboards underfoot. Moving up the stairs - ignoring the dubious creaking they made beneath her admittedly miniscule weight - she travelled the length of the hallway at the top of the landing. Naturally her apartment would be the one furthest away. It just seemed to be the way her luck was turning out for her tonight.

The door was cracked with the finish flaking off in places, one side of the number plate had come unscrewed so it dangled sideways. Sliding the key into the lock, Boh had to jiggle it a little as it became apparent that someone unskilled in lockpicking had tried to jimmy the lock at some point and failed. Overall it made for a very depressing first impression of what Boh suspected would be a very depressing apartment.

Flicking the lightswitch just inside the doorway Boh's shoulders slumped at the sight revealed. Not only did it meet her very low expectations - it exceeded them.

It appeared to be decorated solely from IKEA's ' _This Furniture Was Pulled Out Of A Dumpster_ ' collection. She didn't even want to begin to speculate on the origin of the stain taking up sixty-percent of the stripped mattress - a mental note already being made to flip it and pray the other side wasn't worse. A slight chill filled the air, the cause of which becoming readily apparent as the drab olive fridge made a particularly laborious hum and Boh noticed the door was ajar.

Moving into the small kitchenette, old fast-food wrappers rustled underfoot and Boh kicked them aside in disgust to reveal cracked grey floor-tiles to match the ones ending halfway up the walls. Closing the fridge she found it's only contents to be several blood-packs that she suspected had been thrown in as an afterthought. Since they were scattered across the shelves - one of which had fallen down on one side. Dirty dishes were in the sink and littered across the peeling benchtop along with a boombox that had perhaps been new in 1989. The small TV was equally vintage - _ie. old as fuck_ \- with bunny-ear antenna fashioned from a wire coat-hanger perched on top on the broken dresser.

All of this made the item sitting innocuously on the shitty metal desk in the corner stand out like a beacon. Eyes widening as she recognised it to be the next iPhone model up from the one she had already had before all this vampire nonsense Boh couldn't help but think that it was even prettier than she thought it would be. Even with a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the screen.

' _Hey, the passcode is '7226643'. Keep the cash in the drawer… it's yours. I dropped you a message with my address… come on over after you get settled. - Mercurio.'_

Peeling the post-it off Boh scrubbed at the sticky residue on the screen with her thumb. Entering the passcode she was quick to set it up with fingerprint recognition instead before curiously scrolling through the programmed contacts. It came as no surprise that the only number in there was LaCroix's.

Yanking the drawer open she discovered a black leather wallet containing five crumpled twenties and a fake ID touting her as twenty-five year old 'Boh Zhang'. Dropping it absently on the desk she turned away to watch the rain sliding down the cloudy uncovered windows as she wondered what exactly it was LaCroix expected her to do.

Since moving to Los Angeles less than a year ago, Boh could count the number of times she had visited Santa Monica on one hand. And all of those times had been during the daylight hours. In the hazy darkness, broken up only by the faint glow of streetlights and light pollution above, it was one of the most depressing sights she'd ever seen. Ugly and hopeless just like her current situation.

Before she did anything however, she was cleaning this apartment - there was no way she could relax enough to sleep surrounded by filth. By no means a clean freak the stale stench of rotted food and grease would keep her awake on it's own - especially with how sensitive her nose had become.

Twisting her still dripping hair into a knot on top of her head - wringing as much water out of the sodden mess and into the sink as possible - she began hunting through the cupboards and drawers for anything that could be considered cleaning supplies.

An hour and a half and an entire bottle of bleach later the apartment had been scoured clean, the slight chemical burn in her nostrils preferable to the previous odour.

Arms and lower back aching Boh sat on the floor of the shower, the water falling down on her was as hot as the shower allowed and had almost engulfed the room in billowy clouds of steam. Water beaded on the cool surface of the window and mirror, trickling down like tears. The heat seeped into her skin and almost reached the bone, if she closed her eyes she could almost pretend that she was alive again with reddened skin and a pulse thrumming just beneath it.

No longer distracted and running on adrenaline the reality of her existence finally sunk in. Limbs curling in on each other Boh shook with violent sobs, the cries ripping from her throat and reverberating around the small room.

Alone with just her thoughts, she mourned.

Boh mourned the girl from New York who had only just allowed herself to start healing the mental wounds inflicted by the accident that took her father. The girl who had left behind a life of dancing for men who thought they owned her. The girl who had moved to LA to trade a pole for a microphone. The girl who wanted to honour her father's memory by pushing forward and fighting for her happiness, even though she could no longer bear to remain in the city that had taken him from her.

That girl was dead and no amount of crying was going to bring her back.

"So, what're you gonna do, Kiddo?" Voice catching in her throat, it was a poor impersonation of her father. That didn't stop her from finding comfort in the familiar words. "Keep crying or get outta the damn shower?"

Wet laughter choking in her throat, Boh gasped for breath. Hands clutching at the walls she pulled herself upright, turning her face into the stream of water before turning it off. All evidence of her breakdown washed down the drain.

She was now a vampire. There was no changing that fact, no bargains to be made. Just the cold hard truth laying heavy beneath her breast. One simple truth remained, however: not all monsters do monstrous things. And that was what mattered.

Standing there naked Boh was relieved to find that she still retained the thick scars running from her left knee up to her waist. Remnants of the worst day of her life. Well, second worst now. A souvenir left behind by the drunk driver who had taken her father's life and very nearly her own.

Wearing only her damp underwear until her blouse had dried out enough to wear Boh began to slot the sheets of wood into place in the window frames in order to block out the oncoming sunrise. Actions that would soon become routine. A depressing thought, never seeing the sun again. Almost as depressing as the squeak of the bedsprings as she dropped down onto the bed.

Toying with her phone she went back and forward in her head, staring blankly at the watermarked ceiling. It was a little after five AM, which meant her mother would have only just awoken and started to get ready for her day. Moving around her small Manhattan apartment with her eyes half-closed until she managed to consume her second cup of coffee. Greeting the individual plants inhabiting the space by name.

Taking in a steadying breath Boh dialled her mothers number.

"...Hello?"

Lips opening in a silent gasp at the sound of her mother's voice, Boh felt the grief it invoked like a physical blow. It had been a moment of weakness, contacting her. To be naive enough to believe that everything she did on this phone wasn't being tracked and reported to LaCroix. A shudder ran down her spine and her eyes went wide.

Oh _no_.

"Hello?" Her mother repeated while Boh was lost in the throes of realisation. "Can I help you?"

Yanking the phone away from her ear she ended the call, staring at it in horror. What if LaCroix went after her mother? Were they able to do that? Would she be safe in New York or was there no limit to their reach?

If anything happened to her mother because of Boh's moment of weakness she would never ever forgive herself.

It was becoming glaringly obvious that she needed to start acting a lot smarter than she had been.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hi guys! Thank you so much for your reviews and support last chapter. Things are starting to heat up now. Boh's had a good old breakdown that's probably not going to be her last but, hey, at least she's got clothes now!**

 **Happy reading,**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own VTMB, nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.**

* * *

When Boh knocked on Mercurio's door, this was not what she expected.

"Holy shit!"

The scent of his blood threatened to completely overwhelm her as she rushed to the man collapsed on the couch. A wet sucking sound filling her ears as she moved across the blood-soaked rug. Dropping to her knees with wide-eyes, hands fluttering uselessly over him, she demanded, "What the Hell happened to you?"

"Those mothers ripped me off...I'm dyin' here!" He managed to force out, anxiety twisting in her gut at the thick wetness in his voice accompanied by a long groan of pain.

No shit.

Eyelids fluttered as the coppery tang in the air began to make Boh light-headed, unconsciously leaning in closer as her nostrils flared delicately with each breath. Before leaving her apartment she'd managed to bring herself to drink one of the plastic bags of blood, continuously telling herself to imagine it was a Capri-Sun. Very quickly Boh was learning that nothing would satiate the Thirst completely, her current situation being one such example. A small voice whispering in the back of her mind that this injured man on the couch was prey to her predator.

All she needed to do was lean forward one more _inch_ -

"You a New Yorker too, huh?" Snapping her out of her daze with his thick Brooklyn accent Mercurio coughed, spraying flecks of blood over his mouth, chin, and shirt. "I got…I went…" Another groan. "What is this lump? Is this my rib? Oh, Holy shit, my rib is pokin' through my side?!" A wet gasp that turned into a drawn out moan of pain. "I'm all numb…you gotta look and tell me!"

Boh glanced down and inhaled sharply. Amongst the sodden remains of his silk shirt was definitely part of a rib bone as well as what looked like the neck of a beer bottle. Averting her eyes she let out a nervous laugh, "It's nothing - just a scratch. Who did this to you?"

"Goddamn chemist! Can't trust any operators in LA. I verified him, organisation seem reliable. Guy mixes up speed, his crew sells it. Occasionally does explosives. I set up a drop."

Eyebrows raising a the word 'explosives' Boh nodded regardless, encouraging him to continue his story. All the while her mind was racing with what exactly LaCroix expected her to do with _explosives_. Boh was an exotic-dancer turned lounge-singer turned vampire. Her areas of expertise were working a room and crooning crooning jazz-era love songs. Once upon a time her father had taught her to handle a gun but that was hardly comparable to explosives more powerful than a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

"I show up at the beach with the money, right?" Mercurio continued, "four of these guys, they come outta nowhere. Junkie pricks - they hit me with a bat! Head feels like I've gotta friggin' horse kickin' it. I shoulda never gone alone...amateur move. I shoulda handled those pricks. Goddamn Cali rat bastards!" He paused for a moment to catch his breath, the air gurgling wetly through his chest and making a small shudder run down Boh's spine. "Those cocksuckers - beat me rotten, left me for a stiff. I had to crawl to my car, crawl my ass up here. The vamp blood's the only thing holdin' me together. But - _shit_ \- they got the money, they got the Astrolite…"

"Stop," Boh interrupted not unkindly, "you said ' _vamp blood_ ' is what's keeping you alive? Would more fix you entirely?"

"Yeah…" Mercurio was slow to answer. If his face hadn't currently resembled a tenderised steak it probably would have been screwed up in confusion to match the tone of his voice. "But the only way to get more is to tell the boss I fucked up - and he'd be more likely to finish the job."

After the first word Boh had stopped listening, fixating solely on the fact that her blood could help him. Stop the flow of fresh blood bombarding her senses and hope for the best that once the blood everywhere else dried out it would stop bothering her. Yes, she wanted to end his pain but for purely selfish reasons as she also wanted to end her own.

Shaking his head as he watched her bring her wrist to her mouth and bite down on the cold skin Mercurio began to protest, "No, no, no! That would piss the boss off even more -"

Thrusting her arm in his face Boh cut him off, blood welling up from the two puncture wounds to drip slowly around the curve of her arm. "Your room looks like a fucking Jackson Pollock painting! If it'll fix you - take it!"

Conflict was apparent in what was visible of his blue eyes beneath the grotesque swelling and bruising of his face. After what felt like an eternity, fear seemingly lost to pain as his tongue darted out and cut a swathe across her skin. Fingers clamped around her narrow forearm like a vice and a long moan vibrated against her skin. Mercurio's mouth was impossibly hot and his tongue dragged across the punctures in an effort to keep coaxing her blood forth.

Before her eyes the swelling in his face began to smooth out, the bruises changing from an ugly purplish-red to a sickly yellow-green. Heightened hearing picking up the sickening crackle of his bones shifting back into place. With a hiss of pain he released her arm to sit up and snap his broken nose back into place and then shifted his shirt aside to push his broken rib back inside before his skin knitted together around it. Removing the broken bottle with a raised brow he drily commented, "Just a scratch, huh?"

"Seemed better than 'oh my God is that a broken bottle' at the time," Boh replied, absently rubbing a thumb over the already healed wounds on her wrist. Feeling oddly bereft of the warmth his mouth had given her. Like she had lost something. "So what exactly is Astrolite and why do I need it?"

With the scent of blood still hanging heavily in the air, Boh couldn't decide which was worse - breathing through her nose or her mouth. Completely disregarding the sad truth that she no longer needed to breathe at all.

As he continued to inspect his rapidly disappearing wounds, Mercurio answered distractedly, "That Astrolite…twice as powerful as TNT - instant demolition. Be on the other side of the world when you engage that timer. You need to make some place disappear - a warehouse. Looks to be a Sabbat interest."

Pausing, he finally looked up from the damage to his sports-coat that put it beyond saving and took in the Chinese woman at his feet.

Strands of dark hair falling across her face her gaze was fixed intently on the end-table at the other side of the room. Pupils blown wide, her nostrils flared delicately while her hand gripped the armrest of the couch so tightly the skin across her knuckles bordered translucent. Boh was completely unaware that she had bitten her lower lip hard enough to cause blood to gently well up around one curved fang.

Quite simply, she was barely holding it together.

As though only just noticing the fact that his apartment could be mistaken for a Tarantino film Mercurio exclaimed, "Christ! I forgot you were a new one - sorry doll." Rising to his feet with a soft groan of effort he was quick to lead her out of the room. Leaving her standing alone in the kitchen he disappeared back into the living room, arms laden with cleaning products.

It was comical to think that a little febreze would get rid of the scent of his blood burned into her nose.

Even through the closed door Mercurio's blood was cloying, Boh's head was swimming with it. After an embarrassingly long amount of time she realised that the smell was coming from _her_. Trousers and shoes smeared with blood, glistening against the black leather, and red handprints stark against her arm.

Raising her arm Boh's tongue cut a swathe through the bright liquid staining her skin. Reeling back she was instantly disgusted with herself. It was sick. Sick, sick, sick. Licking a dying man's blood off herself - who the Hell did that?

Striding into the kitchen proper she firmly ignored the little voice that whispered in the back of her mind: _monsters do_.

Angrily kicking off her shoes she peeled off her trousers and flung them into the sink, turning the faucet so hot water sprayed across her hands. Dropping down she opened the cupboard beneath the sink and grabbed a dishcloth and a bottle of dish detergent.

Well at least her pants would be lemony fresh.

* * *

As Boh climbed the swaying metal staircase leading up the side of the cliff from the beach, she tried to think of how exactly she was going to get in, and out, of a house of violent drug dealers.

Night winds rolled off the surf below, salt spray cold and sharp. Perched on the edge of the overlook the house bordered on dilapidated, surrounded by waist-high grass and a weathered fence with several broken pickets. A guard dog was waiting at the foot of the porch, blond and tan, biceps flexing as he gazed absently at the smoke curling from the end of his cigarette.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder Boh's lips spread into a dark promise and her hips swayed with every step. Blue eyes roamed over her body as he smirked at her, crushing his cigarette underfoot and crossing his arms across his chest. Drawing attention to the span of his shoulders and the thickness of his neck.

Boh had always had a thing for larger men. There was just something about a man who looked as though he could toss her around like a sack of flour. Of course, most of those men treated her like a little china-doll.

This boy, however, just made her want to pat his head and tell him 'good job'.

"Can I help you?"

"That depends," Boh gazed up at him from through her eyelashes, leaving her lips slightly parted, "are you Dennis?"

And with those words his smirk instantly morphed into a scowl, "Why d'ya wanna see the boss?"

Running her tongue over her bottom lip, his eyes following the movement intently, Boh answered, "A friend told me he was the guy to see if I wanted to get some _stuff_ ," rolling the last word around her mouth as though she was sharing a secret.

"Your friend would be right, if you're good for it," the smirk was back in place as he tilted his head, jealousy forgotten as he once again fixated on the swell of her breasts and curve of her hips.

"Oh, I'm good for it tiger," voice huskier than usual she trailed a curved nail down his chest to flick it lightly against his navel, "can I go inside now? Have I made the cut?"

Slightly dazed by the sudden lustre of her hair and the glow to her skin he nodded dumbly. Swallowing twice, adams apple jumping in his throat, "Uh, yeah. Take a right through the living room and knock on the door."

"Thanks tiger," Boh drawled as she moved around him and up the porch steps, fingers trailing up his arm and across his shoulder.

"Come and see me on your way out?"

His voice held a note of desperation that made her throw back over her shoulder, "if you're lucky," before disappearing inside.

Instantly engulfed by the scent of burning chemicals smothered by the sickly sweetness of weed, Boh resisted the urge to cough and kept her sorority girl facade firmly in place as she moved through the room.

Strung out junkies were strewn across the room. One guy sat in front of the TV, his eyes glazed over as he furiously button-mashed an Xbox controller even though the screen was black. A blonde lolled against the arm of a sagging sofa, her kohl smudged eyelids fluttering as she fought to stay conscious while the guy next to her placed wet kisses across her neck as his hand creeped up her skirt.

At the sight Boh had to bite back the urge to step in, to stop him. To give him a firm lesson in the meaning of consent. But as she heard a voice from the other room loudly complain, "damn, I messed up one of my rings on that Mercurio guys face! Fucking blood won't come off," it became the least of her concerns.

Rapping her knuckles against the scratched wood, the door swung open and she was greeted by that same voice in an arrogant drawl:

"See? This is what I love about this business - fine ass bitches come to me."

Dennis was a stocky African-American man with slicked back hair and far too many rings on his fingers. A cheap white suit with the collar of his blue shirt unbuttoned to reveal a gold chain nestled in dark chest hair completely the look. Sleazy couture at its finest.

"Dennis, right?" Boh smiled at him, head cocked to the side.

"Oh yeah, baby," his eyes raked over her body, "I got what you want if you got what I need."

"Oh tiger, I'm betting on it," tossing her hair over her shoulder she made her eyes wide and innocent, "wanna send your buddies out of the room while we discuss payment?"

"Yo, go check my odometer."

Leaving the room the other men nudged at each other, making obscene gestures towards Boh while Dennis grinned to reveal very white teeth. Boh felt a strange fluttering in her belly as the Beast shifted restlessly and she was taken aback by the sudden urge to punch those very white teeth down his throat.

Catching a lock of hair that rested against her cheek, Dennis let it run through his fingers while he asked, "Now, what exactly am I mixing up for you tonight? Uppers, downers, or something in between?"

Recognising the scent of Mercurio's blood coming from his rings - faint as though he had attempted to rinse them clean - Boh stiffened.

Nostrils flaring she flatly replied, "Astrolite."

Suspicious, Dennis' grip on her hair tightened, "You're the second person to ask for that tonight...why would a pretty young thing like you need Astrolite for - hmmm?"

The fluttering in her belly returned accompanied by a red tint at the edges of her vision.

Moving so quickly the room around her blurred Boh slammed him against the wall next to the window. One of her legs was wedged between his thighs and her forearm was firm across Dennis' throat. Her free hand curved over his mouth, muffling the string of curse words he attempted to scream at her.

Smiling wickedly at the restrained man, Boh turned her head towards the door and loudly called, "Yeah baby! Take me hard!"

Turning her gaze back to the man pinned between herself and the all Boh answered his question with one of her own. "Were you gonna steal my money and beat me to death before or after you fucked me, huh?"

His heart pumped a sharp staccato rhythm against his breast and his body near on hummed as he struggled against her. Angry and desperate.

"Yeah," Boh sneered, "that's what I thought."

Blood bloomed fresh around her, Dennis biting his tongue through his struggles, lips moving furiously against her palm. A soft growl vibrated deep in her throat as her vision blurred and her stomach clenched.

Snarling, Dennis' eyes went wide at the sight of her fangs as she violently yanked his head to one side, revealing the column of his throat. Darting forward her fingers clenching painfully tight in his hair as her fangs sank into his skin and hot blood flooded her mouth. A moan vibrated through her as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard on the puncture woods. It was bliss. It was everything she ever wanted or needed. Nothing compared to this feeling.

Nothing.

 _This how it's going to be, Kiddo? You going to be judge, jury, and executioner?_

Shocked out of her frenzy by the sound of her father's voice, Boh jerked her head back as her eyes desperately searched the room. It took a long moment for her to realise the voice had come from inside her head. Dennis' quiet moan drew Boh's attention back to him as his head lolled drunkenly forward to rest on his chest, her hand pressed to his shoulder the only thing keeping him upright. Shirt collar stained red as blood continued to run from from the punctures her teeth made like macabre tears.

Horror-struck at what she had done - what she had _almost_ done - Boh lowered the now unconscious drug dealer to the floor. Raising a trembling hand she bit down hard on her knuckle and tried to think clearly. Shaking away the fog stubbornly clinging to the edges of her thoughts.

Instinct taking over she leaned down and ran her tongue over the wounds, cleaning the skin and swirling her tongue through the liquid pooling in the hollow of his neck. When she drew back the wound had closed up leaving behind slight bruising as a souvenir of the time he almost had his throat ripped out.

That was gonna be one Hell of a hickey.

Hearing his sluggish heartbeat aided in calming her down as Boh accepted that she hadn't killed him and that was what mattered. As for her father's voice...well, that was something to dwell on when she was no longer in a house of well-armed drug dealers and junkies.

Through Dennis' open jacket the light reflecting off of something shiny caught Boh's attention. Holding back a snort of laughter she still whispered in disbelief, "seriously?" as she pulled a gold-plated Desert Eagle from his shoulder holster. Making a split-second decision, she ejected the clip to check that it was full and tucked the gun into the back waistband of her trousers. Cool and solid in the dip of her lower back she stripped the man of his suit jacket, shrugging into it herself. It dwarfed her much smaller frame, but all that she cared about was the fact that it covered the pistol better than her blouse did.

Rolling the sleeves back to her elbows she inspected the table running along one side of the room. The entire thing resembled a set from _Breaking Bad_ and she had to admire their dedication to live up to the stereotypes of their chosen career path. Assuming that the two bottles strapped together with wiring and a digital-timer was the Astrolite she placed it into a brown paper bag she found under the table.

Checking that Dennis was still passed out on the floor, Boh opened the window and slipped outside.

Dropping gracefully into the dry grass Boh kept low and squeezed through a gap in the fence at the far edge of the property. Waiting until her friend at the door had turned away Boh darted towards the access stairs, her surroundings blurring once again. After a beat she realised it was less that the world was blurred and slow, and more that she was moving that fast it appeared to be. Quickly coming to the conclusion that it must be one of the disciplines that Jack had mentioned - blood abilities shared by Clan. The name of this one was currently eluding her but she swore it sounded a lot like 'celery'. When she saw Jack again - _if_ she saw Jack again - she'd ask for a refresher course on Kindred 101 and possibly take notes this time.

Stopping short halfway down the stairs Boh remembered the words that had stopped her from killing Dennis back in that room. Digging her phone out of her pocket she promptly called 911. Not allowing the operator to get a word in, Boh rattled off the address and that it was a gang-affiliated drug-lab before hanging up.

Honestly, she wasn't expecting much to come of it. Even if she did hope that it was enough to for LA Vice Squad to at least look into it. Mostly it helped alleviate the guilt she had been feeling, helping her believe that her father would be proud if he was still alive.

Stuffing the phone into the jacket pocket her fingers brushed against something. Pulling it out, Boh grinned down at the thick wad of cash in her hand.

"Oh, Mercurio, it really is your lucky night."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Little bit of a longer chapter for you - plus a bit of action! Thank you so much to those who reviewed - you seriously made my day! Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

 **Happy reading!**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own VTMB, nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.**

* * *

It turned out that female vampires were assholes too.

As Boh waded her way through the sewers beneath Santa Monica she was thankful that she'd taken a trip to the mall and invested in some spare clothes. Feet and ankles now protected from the freezing...water...lapping against her calves. Not too much thought was spared on exactly what made up the liquid she was moving through otherwise there was a very high chance she'd turn right back the way she came.

So far vampirism wasn't nearly as glamorous as the media had led her to believe. Three nights in and absolutely zero hot vampire brothers were fighting for her affections. It was more than a little disappointing.

Instead she had met two vampire sisters who could benefit from couples therapy. Twins as opposite as night and day. Jeanette with her blonde pigtails and catholic school-girl get up was some nerdy goth's wet-dream. Not to mention batshit crazy. Meanwhile Therese was so straitlaced it wouldn't be a surprise if she ironed her underwear. Repressed to the nth degree and obsessed with proving she was good enough for the Big Boys Club.

And now Boh was sent on a fetch-and-grab mission all because Therese was pissed off some guy was fucking her sister. Until that night Boh hadn't been aware that there were so many synonyms for 'slut'. But now she was certainly more than enlightened.

Coming across the gate Therese had mentioned she unlocked it with the key that had been practically thrown at her and eyed the slick rungs of the ladder up to the manhole with distaste. Nose wrinkled she said to herself as she pulled herself upwards, "Next thing I'm buying is a pair of gloves."

Grumbling still she hauled herself up and out of the manhole, complaints falling silent as she laid eyes on what remained of the Ocean House Hotel.

It was easy to see the grand structure for what it would have been before the top few floors on the east wing had been set ablaze. Floodlights illuminating the construction yard made the shadows appear even darker. The building appeared almost ghostly, the facade long since bleached white from the salt coming in on the sea breeze.

Fetching the keys for the front doors Boh approached the large stone steps, jangling them nervously in her hand to break up the sudden unnatural silence that had fallen over the property. Even the rhythmic crash of the surf below seemed muted in her ears as gravel crunched beneath her heels.

Shattered glass tinkled against stone as the blown-glass lamp to the right of the doors burst with a loud pop causing Boh to jerk in surprise. With a nervous giggle she eyed the blown bulb and slid the key into the lock, pulling her hand back as the door slowly swung inward with a loud creak by itself.

Biting the inside of her cheek to smother another giggle she whispered to herself, "I ain't afraid of no ghost," and stepped inside.

It wasn't all that surprising to be told that spirits existed. If vampires were real then why not ghosts? Or werewolves, witches, zombies…the only thing that would actually surprise her would be if leprechauns were real. Because, well, really?

Stepping into the foyer the door closed behind her with a loud click that sounded a lot like she'd be stuck here for a while.

Moving further into the room she stopped short as something caught the corner of her eye. Turning her head she saw what appeared to be a male silhouette holding what looked like an axe of all things down the far end of the wing, lit from behind. Taking a step in that direction the light flickered off and when it came back the silhouette was gone.

"Creepy," she said an instant before a loud rattling from above alerted her and she jumped to the side just in time to avoid being pinned beneath the falling chandelier.

"Dick move!" Boh called out to the surrounding darkness, using the same method she would employ when watching scary movies - using sarcasm and humor to come across as unbothered.

Skirting around the fallen chandelier Boh moved over to the coffee table nestled between the curved double staircases leading up to the next floor and frowned down at the newspaper that seemed as though deliberately left there. The headline proclaimed the grand opening of the Ocean House Hotel, the print faded against the yellowed paper as the edges curled in on themselves.

Figuring that the rooms would be the best place to search for personal items, Boh began to climb the staircase in order to access the rooms on the balconies above. Halfway up the beneath her feet groaned ominously and Boh quickly found herself laying in a heap on hard stone flooring with rotted timber littering herself and the room around her. Rolling to her feet with an annoyed growl she brushed herself down and snarled, "If that's the way you wanna play it - fine! You're off the fucking Christmas card list!"

Wandering around the basement, heels echoing loudly as the clicked against the floor, Boh took a step back as a woman ran past her looking behind her in terror. Ghostly in a white blood-stained dress her gasping breaths were loud in Boh's ears. Leaning out to peer down the way the woman came to see nothing by murky shadows, Boh shrugged and strolled down the hallway after the terrified woman that she was ninety-nine percent sure was a ghost. That or someone was remaking an Evanescence music video.

The hallway ended in a door that sung open before she had a chance to touch the handle and Boh entered the room to find yet another newspaper that had somehow survived the ravages of time spent in a damp dark room. Ghost magic was certainly something to behold. Not as cheery as the one in the foyer, this headline instead announced a child's severed head being found in one of the laundry dryers. It was almost like something The Onion would post as a Halloween prank.

As she grew closer to the laundry room Boh began to hear a thumping rattle, as though something was rolling around inside a small metal space, that grew louder as she entered the room. Approaching the drying making all the racket she whispered apprehensively, "Please don't be some kid's head, _please_ don't be some kid's head…"

Peering into the dryer after the door opened with a long creak a loud sigh of relief filled the room as she saw a key with a red plastic tag laying innocently on the bottom of the steel drum. Holding the dryer door open with one hand - because she had _definitely_ seen this movie before - Boh was quick to reach inside and snatch up the key. The thump of the door closing echoed loudly in the darkness.

Holding the red tag up to her face she read the words 'Boiler Room' scribbled on it in thick black ink. "Alright," she intoned, "I can take a hint."

Stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets, the key tight in one fist, to hide that they were trembling she moved through the doorway on the opposite side of the room to where she'd entered. A red glow to her left alerted her to a door hidden in the corner, the bulb above it casting a rosy light on the words 'BOILER ROOM' scratched into the dirty white metal. Opening the door Boh stared down the stairs, the room below cast in the same red glow as the door. Taking it in she debated whether or not she was now strong enough to simply jump and climb out of the hole that had dumped her down here and high tail it back to her apartment.

After all, she had bought bedding and a diffuser. Surely she could learn to love it there until LaCroix decided she wasn't worth the trouble anymore.

"Do I have to?" Her childish whining filled the otherwise empty hallway, Boh not even having the dignity to feel shamed by her words.

Not wanting to admit it didn't really change the fact that she was scared. Regretting every single haunted house movie she had ever watched in her life. Ever. However, what was even more frightening than living out _The Shining_ was how her body no longer reacted to fear the way she was used to. No roar of blood rushing in her ears, just eerie silence. Her heart wasn't beating a tattoo against her ribs making her light-headed. No clammy hands, sweat prickling between her shoulder-blades, or gasping shallow breathing.

Instead Boh seemed so indifferent to her situation she appeared nonchalant - almost. The only things cracking her facade was the incessant trembling of her hands hidden deep in her pockets and the wideness of her eyes as she attempted to see everything at once. How long had it been since she had last blinked? The thought was followed by rapid blinking as she realised just how uncomfortably dry her eyes were. Despite knowing it was ridiculous - as if bullets could possibly do anything more than pass through a ghost and piss it off - Boh took comfort in the heavy weight of the Desert Eagle pressing against her ribs underneath her jacket. Snug in the shoulder-holster Mercurio had gifted her after she'd returned his money and they'd mocked the gaudiness of the gun.

And then been mocked herself as she held the thing possessively to her chest and admonished him for suggesting she sell 'Midas'. It was shiny and ostentatious and the single most ridiculous show of wealth she'd ever seen. She loved the fucking thing, alright?

Descending into the depths of the boiler room the click of her heels echoing in the small stairwell were strangely reassuring. Breaking the almost unnatural silence that had befallen her as soon as she'd opened the door.

Until she entered the room itself and a masculine laugh rose around her in borderline hysterics. If anyone asked she would firmly deny the squeak that escaped her lips as she jolted ramrod straight when she realised it wasn't a disembodied laugh this time.

Through the pipes beneath the large boiler tank to her right Boh saw the bottom of a black pair of trousers and dark shoes. Dropping to one knee she peered through the gap and pressed her fingertips to her mouth at the sight of blood-soaked hands loosely grasping the handle of a rather large axe. The blade itself was shiny with blood that fell to the floor with a soft _drip drip_. Each drop made Boh shiver. His shirt was partially unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled back, splattered with so much red you could hardly tell if it was originally white. All Boh could see of his face was the red light glinting off his teeth, lips pulled back into a maniacal grin, while his hat was pulled over his face casting the rest of his features in shadow.

Flickering, like static on a TV, he disappeared.

Winding her way through the remaining boilers Boh half-expected an axe to come hurtling at her head at any moment. Senses on high alert as she peeked around the last corner and almost sagged in relief when she spied the lever that would hopefully start the boilers. Rushing to it she yanked it down then jumped as a low rumble filled the room, gradually rising in volume. A sharp _ping_ was the only warning Boh received as a rivet burst off the tank closest to her in a plume of steam and embedded itself into the wall next to her head with a puff of stone dust.

Eyes wide she glanced at the deep hole and swallowed. Concentrating hard she willed her body to move faster and was rewarded with her surroundings blurring. Weaving around the rivets moving through the air as though it were as thick as molasses and dodging expanding clouds of steam, Boh didn't stop until she was out of that Hell room. Skidding to a stop back where she had fallen through the stairs when she heard the loud _ding_ of an arriving elevator, Boh's head cocked towards the sound.

A flickering light on the side of the wall proudly proclaimed 'ELEVATOR' and the doors slid open welcomingly.

"Alright," Boh entered the elevator reluctantly, "guess we're going up."

When she exited the elevator a soft rattling made Boh leap to the side just as a painting violently flew past her shoulder. Glass shattered as it collided with the balcony railing and landed on the floor. Glass crunching underfoot, Boh bent down to examine the painting just as a vase soared over her to smash loudly into the floor below. Her head no doubt having been the intended target her plum-painted lips twisted into a scowl. Asshole ghosts. Turning the painting over curiously she saw a large handprint burnt into the back of the frame, running her fingers over it she pulled back in surprise - it was _hot_.

Soft sobbing drew her attention to the far side of the staircases. The blood-soaked woman from earlier stared down at the table in front of her, tangled hair shadowing her features while her pale arms wrapped tight around herself. She shimmered as Boh approached, like the air above tarmac on a hot day. Once Boh was within touching distance the woman raised her head, eyes like tear-drenched violets gazing beseechingly from a delicately beautiful face, before disappearing.

Another newspaper lay upon the wooden table, the headline on this one calling out that another child had been found 'chopped up like firewood'. Once again Boh was astounded that someone had allowed these headlines to ever be published. A shudder ran through her as she stared down at the faded print with horror.

"Just what the fuck happened here?"

Squeaking from behind her caught her attention and she spun, hand instinctively drawing her gun and aiming it at the highly threatening...wooden train.

"Lucky I can't have heart-attacks anymore, huh?" Boh mused as she entered the room, childishly punting the train ahead of her, "Otherwise Therese would have to deal with another damn ghost...bitch."

In the middle of the floor was a scattering of children's drawings as well as a tin of coloured pencils. Kneeling next to them, Boh's eyebrows raised at the wholesome depiction of the average American family. Mom, two-point-five children, and the demonic entity with an aura of flames.

Perfectly normal.

Suitably disturbed she sifted through the coloured pencils after a glinting...something...caught her eye. Withdrawing with a slight tarnished key pinched between her fingers she was pleased with her discovery. Especially since it had just been an excuse not to look at the freaky family portrait any longer.

As soon as Boh slipped the key into her pocket the lights shut off with a loud pop, plunging the room into darkness. Before she had time to panic or complain the bedside lamps cast the room in a golden glow and revealed the writing scratched deep into the ugly wallpaper above the bed:

GET OUT!

"Don't have to tell me twice," Boh muttered as she raced back out onto the balcony, doors slamming shut behind her.

Back across the balcony where she had first come out of the elevator Boh saw the blood-soaked woman staring at her while stretching one hand towards the door next to her.

This time the woman disappeared once Boh had walked past the room just before the one she indicated was next on her journey through the Hotel From Hell. Turning the handle only to find it predictably locked, Boh chanced using the key she had picked up from the previous room and snorted softly when the door swung open, arrogantly marching inside.

"Good thing I played all those video-games as a kid, huh?" Were her last words before she fell through the floor with a shriek and landed heavily on top of a bar.

Groaning, Boh sat up and dangled her legs over the side as she rubbed the back of her head. Looking down as her hand crunched against something as she tried to steady herself. It was yet another newspaper. This one speculating that maybe the arson occuring all those years ago at the hotel was actually a suicide on the part of the murderer.

"Yeah, no kidding," Boh informed the paper with a roll of her eyes.

After searching the room that was once upon a time the hotels bar, Boh was no longer amused when she realised that the dumb-waiter was the only way out.

Working herself up she shoulder-charged the boarded up double-doors that led back out into the lobby. Achieving nothing more than a patch of dust stubbornly clinging to her jacket and leaving her to only assume that the wood was in fact reinforced steel.

"No, no, no, no, _no!_ " Boh repeated frantically as she eyed up the small space she was expected to squeeze into. Small spaces were a big No No. Nothing sending her into a panic like being stuck somewhere small and enclosed.

After several long minutes of eyeing up the tiny metal box of death that seemed to be growing steadily smaller she mulishly crawled inside it. Knees hugged to her chest the ridiculously small box shuddered and began its descent. Rocking slightly she discovered that it was indeed possible to vampires to work themselves up to a panic-attack.

When a soft ding signalled her arrival at the floor below she burst forth only to run into a counter. Catching her stomach on the corner she fell decidedly ungracefully to the floor.

"Oof!" She exclaimed as something pile-drived her sternum.

Sitting up she picked up the small worn red velvet book that had dropped down onto her. Skimming through the words written in elegant cursive her stomach twisted as the suspicions she had surrounding the ghosts in the hotel were proven correct. The diary told the chilling story of a husband driven mad by jealousy to the point of murdering his entire family. Hunting them down through the hotel and slaughtering them like animals.

" _Help me…"_

Whispering over her skin like a gentle breeze, Boh shivered at the plaintive words. It appeared that the reason the spirits were still in the hotel was because the husband wouldn't allow them to move on. Instead they were forever trapped, reliving their murders over and over again.

"You sick son of a bitch," Boh snarled at the empty kitchen, the Beast twitched deep in her belly, hot and roiling.

Anger.

That's what got her through the air-vents. That's what made her move fast enough when the husband tried to drop an elevator on her once she exited the vents into an empty elevator shaft. It's what made her balance in high-heels on a thin ledge as she shuffled towards the open elevator doors and what made her dodge every single _fucking painting and vase he threw at her_.

Once black flames began to lick at the walls, billowing across the ceiling and warming her cold skin with their impossible heat, Boh knew she was getting close. As if throwing a paranormal temper-tantrum would stop her now. Only two things would sate her fury: freeing his family from his clutches or waving his decapitated head on a stick in front of his weeping mother.

Unfortunately only one option was viably possible.

Prowling down hallways Boh laughed at his attempts. "You can throw paintings at me, you can throw cutlery at me, you can try and drop a fucking _elevator_ on me! But you can bet your ass you'll be all alone by the time I'm through you bastard!"

When the first pipe burst she wasn't quick enough to dodge it entirely, steam leaving the soft swell of her cheek pink and shiny. However the heat effusing her flesh was a mere annoyance in the face of her anger as she flowed around the remaining burst pipes like water.

The pain only urged her on. Anger was a tremendous motivator.

A door to her right creaked ajar and without a second thought she pushed her way inside. What would have once been a beautiful suite was now nothing more than charred remains. The entire far side of the room was gone as was the ceiling and walls, leaving it to the mercy of the storm that had brewed while she had been running around the Hotel From Hell. Wind twisted her hair about her face and rain battered against her, running down her face like tears as the water dripped off her chin and onto her jacket. All she could smell was salt and smoke and ozone.

Stepping closer to the edge of what remained of the floor, Boh jumped as golden light filled the room.

Looking around, Boh found the suite restored to its original glory. The carpet was thick, muffling her footsteps as she reeled backwards instinctively searching for a shadow. Heavy brocade curtains were pulled open on every one of the large windows lining two of the walls, sunlight spilling into the room. Inspecting her skin, she was astounded to find that she wasn't burning.

No blistering skin. No wisps of smoke. No smell of barbecuing flesh. No pain.

No _pain_.

Feeling as though she was surrounded by the comforting warmth of a hot bath she approached one of the windows. Turning her face into a beam of light she closed her eyes and pretended she was alive again.

Boh was unsure of how long she stood there. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but eventually she stepped away from the window. On the far side of the room something glittered on a table in a conveniently placed shaft of light. Unashamed of the wetness staining her cheeks Boh gazed down at the beautiful silver locket that had trapped a poor woman in Hell.

"Thank you," Boh's voice was thick with emotion as she picked up the necklace and carefully tucked it into her jacket pocket. Fingers trembling as they pulled up the zip to the pocket nice and snug. The illusion shattered as soon as the necklace was hidden from sight. Sunlight and warmth cruelly replaced by darkness and drizzle as the supernaturally enhanced storm eased off. It felt as though something large and sharp was wedged in Boh's throat and she pressed a hand against her chest. Rubbing absently at the dull ache where her heart no longer beat.

When Boh let herself into her apartment after wading back through the sewers the first streaks of pink were painting the sky. The ache in her chest was as persistent as the lump in her throat. Collapsing on her bed she gazed longingly at the boarded up windows, curling her knees close to her chest as grief threatened to overcome her once again.

Eventually she was lulled to sleep by the soft whispers emanating from the locket gripped tightly in her hand.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapters! It really makes my day. I'm sorry for the delay in posting this latest chapter, I've had a lot going on in RL and it honestly just kept slipping my mind. If I get enough interest following this one, however, I may be tempted to post the next chapter within the next few days.**

 **Happy reading,**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own VTMB, nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.**

* * *

"I'm not doing it, Jeanette."

Struggling to keep her temper under control, a muscle twitched in Boh's jaw as her teeth ground together. What Jeanette was asking of her was insane, childish, and ethically wrong.

The woman in question pouted smudged red lips while her eyes narrowed in annoyance at being denied what she wished. "But Duckling, it's only some paintings! I don't see what's gotten your panties so twisted, you want to make a good impression on Therese don't you?"

Jeanette's mascara was streaked further down her cheeks than originally intended thanks to her tantrum earlier. Pale skin stained pink from bloody tears when Boh refused to hand over the locket she'd recovered for Therese. Therese might be an undead asshole, but she seemed like the kind of undead asshole that got shit done. And releasing those spirits from the hotel was something beyond both Boh's and Jeanette's abilities. Seeing as it neither involved swinging around a pole or crooning into a microphone.

"I'm not going to slash some paintings like a juvenile wanna-be thug," Boh shot back, the creator in her repulsed by the idea of destroying someone else's creations. Like some playground bully kicking over sandcastles.

In an abrupt change of mood, Jeanette cocked her head to the side. Blonde pigtails bouncing around her shoulders she stepped forward into Boh's personal space. The older Kindred caught the button of Boh's blazer between two fingers, flicking it playfully before slowly slipping it free, her mismatched eyes never leaving Boh's. Long, curved, crimson nails slowly dragged back up her torso. Lightly scratching against the black and yellow plaid silk blouse beneath it before stopping to twirl a lock of hair around a single finger and tugging.

"Poor lost kitten," Jeanette crooned, "poor little crumpled paper dancer. Don't worry, your steadfast soldier will put the shattered pieces of your music-box back together."

Eyes unfocused, Jeanette began to softly hum the tune of ' _You Don't Own Me_ ' while continuing to absently twirl Boh's hair tighter around her finger.

 _Crack!_

The sound of Boh's palm connecting with Jeanette's cheek echoed around the large lofty room. Boh went stiff with shock at her action. Eyes rapidly blinking as she returned from the memories that tune had flung her into. Hand falling limply to her side, Boh watched warily as Jeanette fluttered mascara-laden lashes as though awakening from a deep sleep. Concerned about what she would do if the older Kindred decided to take offence to her actions. Feeling awfully like someone who brought a knife to a gunfight.

Green and blue eyes focused once more, taking in their close proximity and the lock of hair still trapped in her fingers, Jeanette's lips curved into a smile like a razor's edge.

"Oh kitten, were we about to do something...naughty?"

She didn't remember? Oh, sweet baby Jesus she didn't remember! A plan quickly began to take form as Boh realised Jeanette had no recollection of the slap or what had caused it. A way to completely circumvent all the time-wasting back and forth she was sure the two sisters would have her doing for the foreseeable future. At least, until they grew tired of her.

No, she was going to turn this little game on its head. It was _her_ turn to play now.

Leaning in closer she gazed up at Jeanette from beneath her lashes. "That's right Jeanette," her voice was the right combination of breathy and mischievous, "we're gonna play a little trick on your sister."

"Oh?" Jeanette seemed surprised and a little disappointed with that answer. Stepping close enough that Boh could feel the press of her nipples through the fabric of their shirts, hard and insistent. Voice growing husky Jeanette continued, "I could think of something much more fun we could do with far less clothing."

"Jeanette, sweetheart, I _respect_ you far too much to just jump into anything like that," Boh was earnest as she caught one of Jeanette's hands between both of hers, thumbs running lightly over her skin. "I don't just want to spend time with your body, I want to spend time with _you_. You're very witty, you know, I like that. I like _laughing_."

Brow furrowed Jeanette slowly replied, "You...respect my... _wit_?"

The sheer disbelief colouring her voice at the idea someone might respect something about her that wasn't her sexual prowess was kind of saddening. Boh feeling a small seed of pity wedging itself between her ribs, knowing that she needed to be rid of it before it had a chance to sprout but finding herself unable to. Her father had always said she had an uncanny ability to collect strays the same way one did baseball cards.

"Of course I do! Your company never gets boring," Boh schooled her features into a mask of disappointment, "unlike your sister. Is she worried that if she ever smiles the corporate gods may smite her where she stands?"

"Therese has always been a stick in the mud," Jeanette agreed, her signature smirk beginning to reappear.

"So," Boh leaned forward conspiratorially, "let's play a little trick to show her just why she should treat you as an equal instead of some petulant child she has to put up with."

As Boh leaned over Jeanette's shoulder, watching her type up the email letting Bertram Tung know it was safe to come out and play, she couldn't help but feel guilt over how easy it had been to manipulate Jeanette into hacking Therese's email account. It was obvious that the woman craved attention. Yet she also seemed to want acknowledgement for being something other than a sex-starved lunatic. Approval.

Especially by her sister.

"...and done!" Jeanette giggled as she clicked the send button, eyes wide with glee as she tipped her head back. "Oh, Duckling, I'd expect a message from Bertie anytime now."

As if on command Boh's phone vibrated as soon as the words left Jeanette's smudged crimson lips.

' _I've heard you've been looking for me. When you're ready to talk, swing by the abandoned oil tank on Third.'_

Smiling wide, Boh swooped down and pressed her lips to Jeanette's cheek in a chaste kiss. Quickly drawing away before the other woman could attempt to turn it into more, leaving behind a plum-dark print of her lips stark against the pale skin. "Jeanette," Boh said with genuine affection, "you are amazing."

Giggling at the praise Jeanette replied, "I can't wait to see the look on Therese's face when she sees what we've done! Duckling, this was the best idea ever!"

Waiting until the following evening to pay Tung a visit had obviously been the worst idea ever. Boh came to this conclusion as an arm wrapped around her neck and roughly yanked her into the shadows of a garbage-strewn alley a mere block away from her goal.

So close. She'd been so _fucking_ close.

Hot fetid breath blew against her ear, every exhale causing hair to tickle the side of her face, as her attacker chuckled. His other arm snaked around her waist and pinned her arms to her sides as he pulled her flush against him. It was easily apparent that he was human, his body heat scalding despite her layers of clothing and his heart thrummed loudly in her ears. Despite herself, she found herself leaning into him, instinctively seeking that warmth she was so desperately lacking. That heat. Even though he smelled of dried sweat, stale tobacco, and the same burnt chemical scent that had permeated the crack-house on the cliff.

Feeling his nose graze her skin and his lips wet against her temple Boh stiffened with rage. Gritting her teeth she dropped her head forward as far as possible, then flung it back with enough force to cause the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. Not missing a beat she also drove the four-inch stiletto heel of her boot down on his instep, effortlessly shrugging out of his embrace.

Nostrils flaring as the heavy tang of his blood hit the air, growing light-headed, Boh spun to face him.

"You fucking chink!" He spat at her thickly, blood coating his lips and chin and splattering onto his dirty white wife-beater as he spoke. "She said to kill you fast, but now I think we're gonna have a little fun!"

 _She?_

"She?" Boh demanded while eyeing him up.

He was unhealthily pale with dark smudges around sunken eyes and three weeks worth of scruff dusting is jaw beneath the blood. Stocky and not particularly tall or short. Average in almost every way. Fingers itched for the gun against her ribs, curbing the instinct until she discovered exactly who this ' _she_ ' was.

"Yeah, the broad with the fancy words and the nice rack. Now hold still so I can kill you."

Blood and brain-matter fanned across the filthy bricks following the loud report of a gun. Boh had barely given him enough time to brandish his switchblade before a bullet hit him dead centre of his forehead. Watching her would-be assassin drop to the ground with a fleshy thump and rustle of garbage, Boh tucked her gun back in its holster. Allowing her amazement at the surprising lack of recoil and her anger at Therese Voerman distract her from taking her first life. There'd be plenty of time for wallowing in guilt later.

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, how had the woman figured out Boh's manipulation and ordered a hit on her that quickly?

Stepping back out onto the thankfully empty street, Boh's phone began to ring. Fishing it out of her blazer pocket, green velvet soft against her fingers, Boh didn't even get a chance to greet her caller. Jeanette's voice frantic as it spilt loudly from the speaker.

"Therese has gone crazy! She sent someone to kill you!"

"I know," Boh frowned as the sound of something pounding violently against wood filtered through the phone. "Jeanette, what's going on?"

"I've locked myself in the bathroom - she's trying to kill me! You've got to help -!"

Jeanette let out a horrified scream and the line went dead.

Barely contained rage bubbled in Boh's belly. It felt as though her entire body was vibrating, drawn taut and dangerously close to snapping. Before, when she'd been alive, she was quite well-known for switching from one extreme emotion to the other. But it was different now. It was a violent, almost blind, fury that she could hardly control.

When Boh arrived at The Asylum there was already a line curving down from the doors and the length of the building, music from the speakers reverberating through the cracked pavement. An eerie calm hung around her, much like the eye of the storm. Roiling emotions only given away by the nails digging into her palms and her jaw being clenched so tightly her fangs were cutting into her gums as she swept up the steps and burst dramatically through the doors.

Sounds of complaint and protest over her line-cutting died on the club-goers lips once they caught a glimpse of the barely controlled tempest swirling beneath Boh's facade. Several people opting to go party elsewhere.

The heat and sound of the club hit Boh like a physical wave of sweat, alcohol, drugs, pheromones, and an almost thunderous roar of blood. It was heady. Addictive. Enough so that she paused in front of the bar long enough for the large man behind it to notice her stillness. Taking a deep shuddering breath Boh understood why the Voerman sisters had chosen such a place as their Haven. The violent cocktail of lust and desperation thick on her tongue.

It was just so obnoxiously _human_.

"Hey, sweet cheeks," the bartender called out, recognising her from the past few nights, "isn't a good time to visit the boss right now. She's squabblin' something fierce with Jeanette again. Pull up a stool and I'm make ya a drink while ya wait."

Boh didn't even bother to acknowledge him.

Using the side of her fist to call the elevator, she adjusted her blazer to make sure her gun was concealed. Not wanting Therese aware of it, preferring the deranged Kindred to assume she was unarmed and underestimate her again. It was always infinitely more satisfying that way.

As the elevator ascended the booming of the club lessened and was replaced by barely articulate screeching and the sounds of ripping fabric and smashing glass. What most people would have taken as a warning, Boh took as encouragement.

Storming into the room she stopped short, trying to process what she was witnessing.

The office was a shambles, splintered furniture and shattered glass littered the floor. The heart-shaped bed in the corner was an eruption of white feathers and torn pink satin, the bathroom door kicked open from the _inside_. The giant painting of a man and who Boh had always assumed to be the Voerman sisters as children was slashed down the centre, the canvas gaping open like a wound. Boh found it even creepier than she had previously.

Standing before it was Therese and Jeanette Voerman.

It was the weirdest mash-up of the two sisters that Boh had never imagined witnessing. The right side of their face was quite obviously Jeanette. Smudged ruby pout, raccoon eyes, and sloppy pigtail. The other side was all Therese, with a bare face and her hair pulled into half a chignon. Her clothing was Therese's, except her grey suit skirt was hiked up several inches higher and her breast were straining against her now unbuttoned white blouse.

What the actual fuck.

All this time the sisters had been the same damn person. And it became abundantly clear how Therese had managed to find out about Boh's manipulations. Also, that neither personality was aware that they shared a body.

What concerned Boh, however, was the thirty-two Therese currently had levelled at her chest while Jeanette struggled to gain control of the gun herself.

"You!" Therese sneered, voice rising in volume with every word. "This is all _your_ fault! You and your _meddling!_ "

"It's _your own_ fault, you homicidal bitch!" Jeanette screeched at a pitch that would cause dogs to howl, "If you weren't such a control freak -!"

"If you weren't such a vindictive whore!" Therese cruelly interrupted. "Willing to rub up against anything that will warm your bed, _fornicating with Kine_ \- you disgust me!"

Jeanette laughed, bubbling high-pitched and unbalanced over her crimson lips. "Oh, Princess Purity wants to talk about cleanliness? You and Daddy Dearest were about as _unclean_ as a confessional!"

"Shut up!" Therese screeched shrilly as her hand shook, gripping the gun so tightly her already white knuckles were practically translucent. "Cease your slanderous lies! Father loved me!"

Boh was focusing on staying impassive and not giving her thoughts away, however, the more she heard the harder it was to keep her eyebrows from creeping further up her forehead. No doubt she was still furious, the dull roar in her ears a constant reminder, but this was the most bizarre situation she had ever been a part of. And that included being killed and learning about vampires.

All she could think was that she had only been Kindred for less than a week. Did she really want to deal with this weird shit for the rest of forever?

Five days old and a sunrise was already starting to tempt her. Well, shit.

With a wicked grin, Jeanette winked at Boh. "You know, Duckling, Therese wasn't always the pillar of Kindred society she so desperately presents herself as today. Actually, Baron Stuck-Up-Bitch was quite... what's that word you love to throw in my face, sister dear?" Jeanette paused dramatically before rolling the words off her tongue as though savouring the taste of them. "That's right... _depraved_."

Running the tip of her tongue along her lips, Jeanette viciously continued, "Therese was Daddy's favourite, you see. Followed orders, _never_ questioned anything - _yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir!"_

"Don't listen to her, she's lying!" Therese was high-pitched and desperate as she interrupted her sister, as though Boh's opinion of her still mattered at this point. "You're just jealous, you spiteful little Jezebel because Father loved me more! You were a constant stream of pain and disappointment! Bringing home men, rolling up your skirts, painting your face like a common whore!" With each word, Therese grew more and more breathless, chest heaving as she gasped for air, "I was a source of comfort -!"

"You were a source of _something_ , sister dear. Sometimes twice a night!" Jeanette cackled. "Did Daddy find something particularly _comforting_ about white lace?"

"Shut up!" Therese screeched, shaking her head. "You're pathetic!"

"Do you want to know her deep, dark secret?" Jeanette was sly as she slanted her eyes towards Boh standing motionless in the doorway. "One day Daddy came home practically _bathed_ in whiskey and mistakes me for Therese. I guess my painted mouth didn't offend him that much when it was wrapped around his -"

"Father would _never_!" A hand pressed to her chest as Therese gasped in shock at her sister's implication.

"Oh, did he _ever_!" Jeanette was smug, looking every inch the cat who caught the canary. "It was around that point little _innocent_ Therese realised what was happening. I've always struggled with keeping my _enjoyment_ to myself, you see. Quiet as a mouse she slips out of the room without Daddy noticing. When she returns, calm as anything, she levels his hunting rifle at his head and blows his brains all over the silly clown wallpaper!"

"That isn't what happened!" Therese pleaded. " _You_ drove Father to drink, you may as well had put his finger on the trigger when he killed himself!

"As I recall, he died with a smile of his face."

Jeanette delivered her final blow with relish, her words so matter-of-fact she could have been describing the weather. Nonetheless, they hit Therese with all the force of a slap to the face and she reeled back a step before regrouping, a nasty sneer twisting her lips.

"I never should have Sired you, you ungrateful conniving whore! But now, I'm going to fix that mistake!" Wisps of blonde hair curled around her temples and her hand shook with the force of her fury. There would be no reasoning with Therese, Boh realised. Not anymore.

Two options lay before her. One, she follows through with her earlier wish of vengeance and murders them both, risking any punishment that might accompany the killing of an established member of the Camarilla. Or, two, ensure the altercation resulted in Jeanette becoming the dominant personality.

Injecting as much fear and panic into her voice as possible, Boh reached out imploringly with shaking hands and cried, "Jeanette, she's going to kill us - grab the gun!"

A split-second hesitation and then Jeanette grappled with Therese over the gun. A gunshot. The echo of the report deafening in the silence that followed.

Straightening slowly, staring at Boh with pink stained cheeks and large eyes, Jeanette sobbed, "Duckling...what have I done?"

Jeanette's voice was lost, vulnerable…heartbroken. At the sound of it, all of Boh's anger started to trickle away, pushed aside by the remarkably human urge to comfort the woman in front of her. She had achieved her vengeance, the cunning older Kindred essentially ended by her own hand, now it was left to Boh to pick up the pieces.

Dark blood bloomed across the left side of Jeanette's blouse, the side that Therese had been portrayed, and it became clear that the Therese persona had been silenced by a bullet to the 'heart'. Rushing forward, Boh noticed that the bullet had passed through Jeanette's shoulder, only inches from having been one of the fatal wounds Jack had warned her about following the 'trial'. Hands curling around Jeanette's upper arms Boh peered up into her vacant eyes, the shock caused by her actions keeping a firm grasp on the other woman.

"Jeanette," Boh crooned softly, maintaining both eye and physical contact. "You're hurt. Do you have any blood-packs you can drink? You need to heal."

Answered only by Jeanette's blank gaze Boh broke eye-contact to quickly scan the trashed office. Catching sight of a mini-fridge turned on its side on Therese's side of the room, Boh ran her hands down Jeanette's arms to twist their fingers together. Gently tugging the unresponsive woman towards the fridge. Disentangling one hand Boh bent down awkwardly and forced the door of the fridge open, a soft growl of frustration rolling from the back of her throat as she found it empty.

Nothing was fucking easy anymore, was it?

Realising this meant she needed to find an alternative source of blood for Jeanette, Boh grew nervous. Little flutterings producing a sick feeling in her belly. She had managed to avoid 'hunting' so far, surviving on blood-packs as the idea of...feeding on a person still made her uneasy. The part of her that was still that young human woman repulsed by what she saw as a monstrous act.

However, as Jeanette's grip on her fingers tightened, Boh came to the conclusion that allowing her friend to suffer would be just as monstrous. Besides, she attempted to rationalise to herself, it would be Jeanette feeding and not her. It didn't really help but she tried anyway.

Coming to a decision Boh sat Jeanette down on the tattered remains of her bed and slowly began to extricate her fingers from Jeanette's grip. When they were almost loose Boh gently informed her, "Sweetheart, I'm going to go bring you something to drink. Just...wait here a moment."

This was, apparently, the exact wrong thing to say as Jeanette let out a strangled sob and grasped at Boh like a person drowning. Her voice was barely a whisper as she frantically repeated, "Don't leave me alone, please don't go!"

With a bit of creative maneuvering, Boh managed to wrap one arm around Jeanette's shoulders, her face resting against the curve of Boh's neck. The fingers of her free hand ran through Jeanette's hair, gently tugging the strands free of the mismatched tangled mess. These attempts to soothe the frantic woman appeared to work as the crushing grip Jeanette had on Boh's waist began to relax. Just in time too, as Boh was fairly certain a few broken ribs on her part wasn't going to help the situation.

"I feel so empty. Why am I so empty? It's awfully lonely in here."

Feelings of guilt burrowed deep beneath her breast at the words Jeanette murmured against Boh's skin.

"Jeanette," Boh's voice was firm although her touch remained gentle, "I'm going down to the club. You need to heal, so I'm going to bring you back something to drink. I will come back sweetheart, I promise. But this wound won't close properly without some fresh blood."

The wound in question had begun the steps of healing over, blood had long since stopped sluggishly oozing from the bullet-hole, but it seemed as though it was straining to finish the job. All Boh could assume was that neither of the 'sisters' had fed this evening. Taking into consideration how emotionally high-strung the pair had been this seemed like a pretty reasonable speculation. Like people who work themselves up so much they forget to breathe and pass out.

"You promise you'll come back?" Jeanette asked in a soft little-girl voice, one that was vulnerable rather than dripping with sexual innuendo.

"I promise."

Boh didn't allow her nerves to surface until she was in the relative safety and privacy of the descending elevator. Compulsively scrubbing at a bit of Jeanette's blood that had started to dry on the lapel of her blazer, unconsciously bringing her fingers up to her lips to lick them clean afterwards. Eyes widening and pupils dilating as her mouth was flooded with the taste of something decadent and sickly-sweet. Staring at her fingers in shock Boh wondered if all Kindred blood tasted that way, but just as quickly she pushed the thought from her mind. A quiet feeling telling her it wasn't the sort of thing 'polite Kindred' would discuss.

Slipping into a persona she hadn't used in over a year, Boh unbuttoned her blouse until the black satin of her bra was visible above the yellow silk. Throwing her shoulders back and fluffing up her hair so it fell in an artless tumble over her shoulders and down her back. She exited the elevator with a swagger to her step that hadn't felt natural since before the accident.

It was time to go fishing.

It took almost a minute to find the perfect target.

Leaning against the wall near the stage, staring at the throng of gyrating dancers with a look of self-conscious longing, was a young man. Nowhere close to unattractive, Boh observed, she would describe his clothing as 'geek chic' complete with black-rimmed glasses. He just wasn't as self-confident as the friends he had come with tonight, who had more than likely forced him to join them. The same friends who had left him all alone.

Lucky for Boh. Not so much for him.

"Don't dance either, huh?"

The young man jumped in surprise, not noticing that Boh was standing next to him until she spoke.

Nervously clearing his throat he replied, "It's not exactly one of my talents."

Leaning into him, Boh smirked and gazed up at him through her eyelashes, "So, tiger, what exactly are your talents?"

Staring at her with a dazed expression on his face he pulled nervously at his collar, "Um-I-uh-well, that is…" He stammered while glancing between her lips and eyes that seemed to grow larger and brighter every moment.

Smiling at him, Boh took the drink from his hand and placed it on a ledge near them before wrapping her fingers around his wrist. A shiver of anticipation ran up her spine as she felt his pulse thrumming against her touch.

"Why don't you tell me all about them upstairs?" She suggested, leading him back to the elevator when all he did was nod dumbly at her in reply. "It's not as loud up there."

As the doors slid shut behind them his pulse suddenly spiked and Boh did the only thing she could think of to distract him.

She kissed him.

Pressing their lips together she curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, urging him to relax. Once he had returned the kiss she lightly ran her tongue across the seam of his lips, losing herself in the sensation of kissing once his tongue touched hers. It was so hot. The warmth from his mouth spreading outward from her lips to the rest of her face. Heating up her cheeks and creeping down her throat. It was glorious and addicting and so far the closest to human she had felt since dying

When they arrived at the office he had plum lipstick smudged on his lips and shirt collar and his glasses were crooked. So dazed he didn't even notice Jeanette upon him until it was too late and didn't even register Boh's soft, "Sorry tiger."

Boh forced herself to stand witness as Jeanette buried her face in the crook of his neck, wincing when she saw that the over-emotional Kindred was not being gentle. As it was, she had to intervene towards the end when it looked as though Jeanette was going to bleed him dry, coaxing her off the poor man's prone form on the floor. Boh took responsibility for him, running her tongue over the ragged puncture wounds Jeanette's zealous feeding had left until they healed. Proceeding to suck lightly on the skin until the blood rose to just beneath the surface and left him with a hickey he would be able to show all his friends. A badge of honour.

Boh put him in the elevator and sent him back downstairs to his friends with the strict instructions that he goes right to the bar and drinks a glass of orange juice. Not that she expected him to pay any attention to her in his barely coherent state. But still, it made her feel better.

 _I am not a monster_ , she repeated to herself like a mantra as she returned to Jeanette.

Boh spent the remainder of the night and day with Jeanette, comforting her with gentle touches and soft words as she lulled her to sleep. The older Kindred curled up in her lap amongst the feathered remains of her bed.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hey guys! Sorry, it's been so long, but there didn't seem to be an awful lot of feedback on the last chapter. Are you still enjoying the rewrite? Last chapter was one I was especially proud of so it would have been amazing to hear peoples thoughts =)**

 **I hope you all enjoy this one, there's a lot going on in this chapter I know.**

 **Happy reading,**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own VTMB nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.**

* * *

Boh awoke with feathers in her hair, the taste of blood lingering on her tongue, and sharp nails lightly trailing up and down her stomach beneath her blouse.

As she stirred the hand grew bolder and ghosted just above the waistband of her trousers, the muscles rippling in response.

"Jeanette…" Boh's voice was low, more warning than seductive.

Jeanette drew her hand back with a near-audible pout, although her body remained pressed up hard against Boh with her face buried in the curve of her neck. Nuzzling into her hair like a kitten, nose cold against her skin.

"I was just trying to make it a good evening, Duckling."

Boh had forgotten how good it felt to be touched and knew that in her sleep-soaked state she had to stop before she crossed a boundary she wanted firmly in place when it came to Jeanette. Being lovers with the troubled Kindred would only lead to complications, the events of the previous evening with Therese blatant evidence towards this conclusion.

"It's already a good evening," Boh stretched, subtly putting space between their bodies. Sitting up she looked down at Jeanette with a soft smile, "I'm with my sister, aren't I?"

Jeanette was sprawled beside her stark naked with her hair a puffy cloud of gold around her head, makeup washed off the previous night when Boh had cleaned the blood off her cheeks. She was, Boh decided, ridiculously pretty without the gothic stripper act she insisted on maintaining.

Locating her boots, Boh sat on the edge of the bed as she pulled them on. "I'm going to see Tung tonight," she informed Jeanette over her shoulder, "Is there anything you need me to get you before I go?" She paused, looking pointedly at the dried blood covering smooth skin no longer marred by a bullet-wound before adding, "Should I grab you some blood-packs to avoid another incident like last night? I don't know how long this job of Prince LaCroix's is going to take."

Shaking the feathers out of her hair and combing her bangs into place Boh looked up again to find Jeanette staring at her deep in thought.

"You're different from everyone else," Jeanette stated, "You don't want to fuck me like they all do. Just what is it that you want from me?"

Smiling, Boh answered truthfully, "I want a friend. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm a little short on people I can trust at the moment."

"Is that why you offered to help me?" Jeanette seemed confused, and from what she had seen of Kindred society so far Boh could understand why. There was no such thing as a good samaritan Kindred, there were only favours, debts, and power-plays. No friends, just tenuous alliances.

"Partly," Boh replied, now dealing in half-truths, "It's also because you needed help. I also liked you a lot more than Therese," she added almost like an after-thought.

"That's it?" Jeanette asked in disbelief.

"That's it," Boh confirmed, flashing a cheerful grin, "Now, am I getting you blood-packs or not? I've got to go see Vandal anyways to get my own since I don't know what Tung's gonna have me doing for the Prince."

Frowning Jeanette questioned, "Why? I'm sure whatever our oh so fair Prince has in store for you won't be lacking in Happy Meals."

Making a face Boh answered with her nose still wrinkled in distaste, "I'm, uh, not that into...feeding...from people. Er, Kine, I mean."

Mismatched eyes stared at her unnervingly until Jeanette erupted into giggles. "You're so precious!" Her voice high and clear in the dimness of the trashed office. "No wonder you're brimming with humanity, I thought it was just because you were so fresh and shiny."

Raising her eyebrows Boh replied, "Thanks?"

Rising from the bed in one fluid motion Jeanette stretched, "It's sweet of you to offer, Duckling, but there's a scrumptious little brunette downstairs that I've been dying to taste."

"I'll visit you when I'm finished," Boh promised as she moved towards the door.

A pale hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. Turning to look at Jeanette, Boh found her face oddly blank.

"Caution, sweet paper doll, that you too are not consumed in the flame. Though the Big Bad Wolf is no danger to Red Riding-Hood, he is no saviour as well."

Jeanette was in the same trance-like state as the other night, except this time she shook it off without a physical altercation courtesy of Boh's right hand.

Smirking, Jeanette released her arm, "Have fun with Bertie, Duckling. Remember to play nice."

Nodding through her confusion at Jeanette's cryptic words, Boh left The Asylum and skirted around the side of the building towards the alley beside it. The medical centre was just a block over and there was access to the blood-bank via a side door that led out into the alley.

Boh's plan was to allow Vandal - the attendant at the blood-bank who happened to be Therese's Ghoul, now Jeanette's? - rob her blind for a few bags of blood, swing by her Haven and clean up, then finally see Bertram Tung about this Top Secret job for LaCroix and get it over and done with.

 _Maybe once I'm allowed back downtown I can stay in my own apartment instead of being exiled to the slums of Santa Monica._

Boh had rapidly come to the decision that Santa Monica was _much_ more appealing when drenched in sunlight. An occurrence she was still coming to terms with never seeing again.

 _Maybe it would be worth it_ , she mused as she moved down the dank poorly-lit alley. _Of course, it wouldn't be here. I'd go back home, watch the sunrise from mom's rooftop garden. At least my last sigh would be the Manhattan skyline bathed in pinks and oranges._

Absorbed in these rather melancholic thoughts, Boh didn't realise she wasn't alone in the alley until her shoulder brushed against a dark denim-clad arm.

Stumbling slightly from the contact, Boh steadied herself and spouted out an automatic, "I'm sorry."

A large hand was raised in acknowledgement as the man continued on his way, shoulders broad beneath his jacket and dark-hair barely touching the upturned collar. "Don't worry 'bout it, Kid."

Eyes widened in recognition as memories flooded Boh's mind, that rumbling cigarette-roughened drawl and the slight hint of bourbon and blood…

 _\- "THIS IS BULLSHIT!"_ -

"Wait!" Boh called out, already moving to stop him.

Too late. She was just too late. He had already disappeared around the corner, blending into the crowd of drunken kine spilt across the pavement. He was gone, along with any chance Boh may have had of thanking him for saving her life.

Or asking why he had even bothered.

* * *

Bertram Tung looked like the kind of vampire you'd see in a black and white movie that was all horror and no romance.

Although feeling slightly guilty following, Boh couldn't help the way her face pinched in shock when she first laid eyes on him. Although that could have partly been from the way he loomed out at her from the shadows of the empty oil-drum he called home, gold eyes glowing in the darkness. She felt that he more than made up for her slip with his not-so-veiled insults about her clan, his attitude already based on nothing more than a first impression. It was not her fault if she enjoyed things like basic hygiene and expensive shoes.

So while she was calling it square for now, if he continued his insistence in referring to her as 'cupcake' she might have to employ a few choice nicknames of her own.

Trailing behind him with sewer water sloshing around her ankles - _again with the fucking sewers_ \- Boh listened closely as Tung spoke to her in his congested nasal drawl.

"News travels down the Kindred grapevine like wildfire. And that courtroom spat between LaCroix and Nines Rodriguez in a juicy little morsel, and you in the middle...how interesting."

Rolling her eyes, Boh skirted around what was possibly a dead rat floating downstream with her nose wrinkling in distaste. "If you're quite done with trying to make my life sound like a Spanish soap-opera, do you think you could maybe tell me why we're gallivanting through the sewers?"

"Because the sewers are your only chance of getting into the warehouse alive, cupcake. Unless you want to try the front door, but that will only get you killed. Trust me," Tung replied dryly, sharp teeth bared in a mocking grin.

"Tell me more about this warehouse." Boh was suddenly hit by the seriousness of the situation, nerves making her voice blunt and demanding. This was no ghost or lone junkie wannabe hitman. This was A Job. "Please?"

At her use of manners, Tung's eyes widened in visible surprise. Apparently, the Nosferatu were unused to society's niceties. Probably explained his aura of assholishness. A whole, get them before they get me mentality that was both exasperating and sad.

Ugh, clan politics. Jack was right - they were what would probably kill her.

"Well, I've been watching the place. The Sabbat has a bunch of low-life humans working day and night to move stuff through there. There's some major staging going on."

 _Sabbat_. The name sounded annoyingly familiar to her, teasing on the edge of her brain, but she just couldn't place it. At the risk of Tung making her feel like an idiot, she swallowed her pride and asked, "The Sabbat, are they like a gang or something?"

A frustrated sigh whistled it's way out of Tung's nose, the vampire in question looking as though his would very much like to press his hands to his head and whisper 'why me?'. "The Sabbat - geez you are green. It's like this; we're all monsters, like it or not." He ignored Boh's flinch at the word 'monsters'. "I'm not gonna say the Sabbat are the _evil_ vampires cuz...none of us are the good guys here. But the Sabbat, they glorify their monstrous nature. They refuse to hide it and go out of their way to show it. They're also brainless and reckless; they have the life expectancy of a vampire fruit fly."

"And these people are working for them?" Boh was gobsmacked, "Willingly?"

"As far as I can tell. The humans seem to know the score from the way they've been talking. I think most of them have aspirations of joining the next graduating class of shovelheads. Ugh, losers," Tung's contempt was almost palpable. Boh couldn't help but agree with him.

"I don't know what's more idiotic - vampires telling people they're vampires, or people wanting to become said vampires," Boh wondered aloud.

"Yeah," Tung agreed, looking mildly uncomfortable about it too, "The Sabbat like everyone to know just who they're dealing with. So if you get in there and have to bust a few heads...don't feel bad. Think about it as," Tung affected a lofty accent, "upholding the Masquerade."

At the Nosferatu's casual opinion of murder, Boh swallowed down a nervous lump in her throat. The man Therese had hired to kill her came to mind. A fleshy thump, brain-matter on dirty bricks, blood mingling with garbage. Squeezing her eyes shut she pushed the images aside - now was not the time.

"Alright cupcake," Tung said as they rounded a corner, "this is where I leave you. Remember, get into the place and plant the explosives in the middle office to take the whole structure down. See you on the other side."

"Thank you," Boh replied, turning to find that she was talking to herself as the sarcastic Nosferatu had disappeared, leaving her alone by the caved-in sewer wall. "...or not." She muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Vampires were so fucking dramatic.

Checking the straps on the leather backpack slung over her shoulders, Astrolite nestled safely inside, she steeled herself and marched into enemy territory.


End file.
